Why Can't We Be Friends?
by A Woman Scorned
Summary: This is, in essence, the most basic premise to any story; boy meets girl, girl likes boy, boy likes girl, girl falls in love, boy fucks girl, girl falls harder, boy pulls away from girl, girl clings desperately, boy runs for the hills in true Iron Maiden fashion, girl listens to Send In The Clowns on repeat for days. Very OOC. AH. BxE. Rated M for a reason.
1. Prologue: A Word to the Wise

**So, I've taken a rather long ****sabbatical, but I am back. Finally. Good God, I've missed this. **

**A few things with this story; given that I have been away for a very long time, it is going to take me awhile to get back into the swing of things. My extended vacation has also put things into perspective for me. I realized that the reason it took me so long to come back was because I was incapable of keeping up with a set updating schedule, due to my ongoing battle with writer's block. Not that I should be resorting to excuses, but nevertheless, I've come to the conclusion that I can't put that much pressure on myself. It ruins my creative process. So I don't know when I'll be updating. I plan on getting a new chapter out as soon as I can, but no promises. **

**This story is also very hard for me to write, because it is based on recent experiences. I have gone through a hell of a lot lately, and that has been both a blessing and a curse. I continuously feel like I've been kicked in the chest, but it's given me a lot of inspiration to write. Go figure on that one. **

**Anyway, I'm going to stop word-vomiting and let you read. **

**Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Twilight, or it's characters. Just my ideas.  
**

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"_I've cried tears you'll never see,_

_So fuck you, you can go cry me an ocean_

_And leave me be."_

Fall Out Boy

I'm just going to let you know now, before this gets any further; this is _not_ a happy story. There is no fairytale ending, no prince riding off into the distance, me clinging to his shoulders as we race off into the sunset, pathetic single losers choking on the dust disturbed in the wake of his loyal steed.

In fact, the 'prince' in this story is someone who I affectionately refer to as The Asshole.

And believe me, he deserves that title.

But let me get back to the point. Where was I? Ahh, yes, the warning. The disclaimer, if you will.

This is not a tale that works out in the end. This short-lived, ill-conceived parody of a romance has no grand, fantastic gestures or bold, declarative statements. Your heart will neither soar nor shatter. You may identify with the protagonist, but in truth I doubt it. I know I'm not exactly heroine material. In the grand scheme of things, this flight of fancy is insignificant, a mere blip on the proverbial radar.

I have no intention of fictionalizing this tryst, for lack of a better word. I intend to be brutally, wholeheartedly honest about every single aspect of this entire time frame, that seemed to span an eternity for me, but really only lasted four months.

This faux-mance is, in essence, the most basic premise to any story; boy meets girl, girl likes boy, boy likes girl, girl falls in love, boy fucks girl, girl falls harder, boy pulls away from girl, girl clings desperately, boy runs for the hills in true Iron Maiden fashion, girl listens to Send In The Clowns on repeat for days.

This story will be fraught with hardships, with heartache, and inescapable human fallacy. This is the true story of an awkward girl's first foray into the adult world of relationships. This is the story of a naive, ill-prepared young woman being thrust into the clutches of a man she had no idea how to handle. This is the story of the anguish that comes with being toyed with, and inevitably being left by the wayside. This story fucking hurts.

By now, you're probably asking yourself what the point of all of this is. Believe me, during the course of this relationship, I questioned the point to it all on a daily basis.

But, I think the point of this, the truest point to any story, is a kind of deep-cleaning for the soul. I am taking the hurt, the anger, the embarrassment and shame, and unearthing these feelings over and over and _over_ again, in order to rid myself of them entirely. I am taking an SOS pad and scrubbing the grit and grime that stains my heart, leaving the flesh raw and swollen, but free of contamination.

Now, don't get me wrong, I don't believe that I will come away from this experience feeling more mature, or more enlightened. I am not so disillusioned that I can't see where this will go; I will still love him. I will still go to sleep _every single fucking night_, feeling incomplete because I don't feel his warm breath on my neck, or his strong arms anchoring me to him every minute of every night I spent with him. Every hour I spend staring at this screen, watching letters arrange and rearrange themselves in front of my eyes, will be an hour I will be fervently wishing I was spending walking around the lake with him, shoulder to shoulder, not touching but oh-so-close, laughing and truly enjoying each other's company.

But this is something I feel compelled to do. I have to talk about it, because the pressure of keeping this inside is too much; if I don't do something soon, I will burst.

If you're still here, take a deep breath. Close your eyes, and take a moment to prepare yourself. Because this is the most infuriating, awkward, invigorating, fascinating, [insert other obscure Thesaurus adjectives] time of my life. The time has come to take the plunge, to try to explain to you, and to myself, why this man had such a hold on me, why I can't seem to let him go.

Get ready, motherfuckers, because this is going to be a bumpy ride.

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	2. Chapter 1: I'm Not Wise

**I honestly didn't expect to be updating again so soon, but some chapters just need to be written, y'know?**

**Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own the events this story is based on.**

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"_Don't drag my love around,_

_Volcanoes melt you down."_

Damien Rice

Now, before we get into the nitty-gritty aspects of this tiresome saga, I must give you a little back-story on myself. The only way my thoughts or actions will make any modicum of sense is if you understand my motivations.

I come from a broken home; my parents fought bitterly and frequently in my early childhood. My father, abused alcohol; my mother abused her ability to push my father's buttons. Both were trapped in a volatile marriage; both tried to escape through less-than-honorable routes. Eventually, Charlie drove Renee far enough that she packed me up and moved me away. Together, we flitted from place to place for several years, never settling anywhere until she met Phil in Phoenix. Suddenly, she had found her other half, regardless of the fact that their relationship was just as volatile as my parents' had been. It was at that time that I began reconnecting with my father again. I pushed past the hard feelings I had let fester, fueled by my mother's overexaggerated trash-talk and harsh, hyperbolic tales of times past. When I was eleven, I couldn't handle my mother's erratic behaviour, and so I moved back to Forks and settled with my father permanently.

He had changed; he had waged war against the alcoholism that ran rampant in my family, and won. He had found love again with his late best friend's widow, Sue Clearwater. Her two children, Leah and Seth, had been in my life for years, but the new family dynamic was strange and uncomfortable. We often rubbed against each other in ways that were unsettling, all trying to adjust. It was like trying to put a new gear in a clock that isn't exactly the right size; it throws everything else off, and nothing works right. But my father's enthusiasm and simple love of me, mixed with my desire to find stability, kept me living with my step family, desperately trying to fit in. I loved my father, but it was hard. We didn't know how to act around each other, and that didn't make it any easier to relate to my new siblings, and new mother figure.

Sue began to behave like every stereotypical step-mother. She would treat me like a second-class citizen in my own home, and I would take it quietly, even though I felt like screaming until my vocal cords shredded. I stayed silent because I wanted to keep the peace between Charlie and Sue; and maybe, somewhere deeply hidden from conscious thought, I was terrified that Charlie would choose Sue over me, and I would be abandoned by him once again.

The damage of my early childhood, mixed with the errant flights of my mother and my deep-seated terror of my father, had irrevocably shaped me into a warped, submissive person. I was terrified of disobeying my parents. The rebellious phase all teenagers are supposed to suffer through with plenty of angst to share with everyone in a 50 kilometre radius seemed to skip me entirely. I was a parent's wet dream, but provided a constant state of confusion for my father. He didn't know how to treat me; he seemed to expect me to behave in the same way he had when he was a teenager. But I was no shit-disturber, nor was I a liberal, free-spirited, "One Love" type of woman like my mother. I was a strange mixture of daughterly obedience, all-consuming rage, and wry sarcasm.

But I was more than that; I was a dedicated student. School had been the one constant in my life, regardless of my ever-changing address. It was something that never seemed to change. Yes, the faces were new time and time again, but I got used to that. Instead of learning how to make deep, heartfelt connections with people, I learned how to make friends quickly, and hold that friendship for a few months before moving on. You can imagine how hard it was for me, moving back to Forks and trying to fit into cliques that had been established since Kindergarten.

None of that seemed to matter when I was in class; that was where I would shine. I was top of my class, or very near it, wherever I lived. That was what I became known for. I was the brain; the smart one. It was something that was both a blessing and a curse. School became my crutch. It gave me an excuse not to rebel and party with friends, or smoke weed on my lunch break. _I really have to study for this test, I can't go out tonight because I have a ton of homework, I have a project due today, so I have to spend this lunch finishing it up_. This allowed me to save face in my superficial friendships while staying out of trouble.

I was only ever comfortable with my best friend, my confidante, my Alice. She was my rock, my motivator, my opposite. Where I was tall and curvy, she was short and rail-thin. Where I was brunette and pale, she was tanned with a short shock of jet-black, inky spikes. Where I was shy and uncomfortable in large social groups, she was warm and fun. Where I was the good girl, she was the perpetual rebel child. And I loved her for it.

She gave me the balance I sorely needed. She coaxed me to rebel, to grasp my independence, in baby steps. Saying 'no' here and there, rolling my eyes, making my displeasure known. In turn, I coaxed her out of shoplifting, and fucking the hot 40-year-old man she got her weed from. I would encourage her to do her homework, and she would encourage me to walk through the seedy parts of town in the later hours of the night, drinking coolers and smiling at dangerous men. She gave me the kick I needed to be a more rounded individual. She brought me to life.

Of course, Alice was the first one I thought of when _he _messaged me on Facebook, inviting me to his house for a party.

But I'm getting ahead of myself once again. First, I need to explain how I got in touch with _him_. Edward Masen.

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Alice's mother, Esme, reminded me a lot of my own mother, but much more grounded. She was the most warm, accepting woman I had ever met. She was willing to do whatever she could for her family and friends. Her easy demeanor made her the perfect listener, and most avid defender if need be. She and her true love/husband-of-the-century Carlisle had taken me in, treating me like a member of the family since I had arrived back in Forks. She was my surrogate mother, the woman I turned to first when I needed advice.

In the first week of January of that year, I was sitting in the large, open kitchen with Alice, eating cereal and joking around when _his_ name was first brought into conversation.

"Bella, have I ever told you about my friend Elizabeth Masen?" Esme asked without preamble. That was her way; she spoke what was on her mind when it occurred to her, regardless of whether it fit with the previous topics of conversation or not.

I coughed lightly, startled by her sudden question. "Uhmm, you've mentioned her once or twice."

Alice looked at her mom thoughtfully; it was a look I had seen on her face many times. It was the look of someone who was concentrating very hard on the most recent events and comments to try and see what was coming, where this, whatever _this_ may be, was going. Evidently, whatever it was Esme was bringing up, Alice was not aware of it.

"Well, her son Edward just recently broke up with his girlfriend, and he's pretty heartbroken about it. Anyway, she and I were talking over manicures, and your name came up."

I blushed. "Okaaaay..."

"And I told her to tell him that he should add you on Facebook."

"Esme!" I blurted reproachfully. "Why would you do that?"

"Seriously, Mom, what the fuck? She doesn't even know him," Alice demanded.

Esme rolled her eyes, and clicked her tongue at Alice. "Watch your fucking mouth." She turned back to me, and smiled innocently. "What could it hurt? I mean, you two should have met ages ago anyway. This is just a little push. And who knows? He could turn out to be a really good friend."

I shook my head, and pushed my stool back, walking over to the sink and depositing my dirty bowl inside. "I don't know...it's a bit weird, isn't it?"

Esme crossed the room and stood next to me, her angelic face wrinkled in concern. "How is it weird, Belly Bean?"

I winced at the use of my childhood nickname; Esme knew it would make me soften to her will, and be more receptive of her unprovoked intrusion into my personal, private, romantic-less life. "It's just...it's like I'm being setting up by a parent. Like it's some archaic arranged marriage or something."

Alice snorted. "That's _exactly_ what this is like, Mom. Thank God I found Jasper before you felt the need to find me a fuck buddy."

Esme chuckled. "Not to be rude, Ali, but you're not his type. He's really into tall, curvy girls. Or so his mom says."

I blushed furiously, as Alice sniffed indignantly, and rose from the stool, dropping her bowl in the sink noisily before storming from the room. Alice's only flaw was her desire to be the centre of attention; that was why I was drawn to her in the first place. When I had begun school in Forks, I felt lost and hopelessly inept. She was someone I could follow, someone I could emulate. Our relationship had changed, of course, and was much healthier. Once she realized that I wasn't a threat to her, she relaxed and opened up to me. Alice was the most beautiful, sweet soul I had ever met. But her flaws were as fixed and permanent as my own. And even though she was blissfully happy with Jasper, an innate part of her still desired to be the centre of affection from every man. I understood, but it didn't mean I liked it.

Esme sighed, leaning back against the counter and shaking her head. "I think we spoiled her too much as a child."

I laughed. "Yeah, I'm not going to fight you on that one."

She patted my hand, and smiled up at me sweetly. "Bella, I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything. I just wanted to help. I mean, I know you haven't...dated a whole lot, but this could be good for you. At least it would give you some experience in the real world."

I sighed heavily, and leaned against the counter, mirroring her. "I know," I admitted. "I just...I don't want to get my hopes up."

She nodded, understanding. "Look, I'm not going to push this on you. But I think that, if you get the chance to talk to him, you should take it. You never know."

She took that opportunity to exit through the main doorway into the foyer, leaving me with my thoughts.

And so the seed was planted, that poisonous, destructive seed that would ruin me. I went to go find Alice, like she expected I would, and we spent the rest of the day giggling at private jokes and enjoying each other's company. But, I couldn't get his name out of my head. I wondered what he would look like, what his voice sounded like, if his eyes would light up when he smiled. I didn't know it, but I was already infatuated with the idea of him, and I only knew his name.

You see, I had never had a good relationship with a member of the opposite sex before. The first boy I had ever loved, Mike Newton, had been disastrous. He had charmed me with his tousled blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and sexy self-confidence. I had been drawn to him like a moth to flame. I gave him the attention he wanted, and in turn he led me on with pointed looks, perfectly timed compliments, and flirtatiously innocent touches. I was in love before I knew it.

The first day I knew it would never happen was when he told me that the reason I was still single was because I was "bigger than average girls". I had always been self-conscious of my weight. Although I wasn't fat, my bone structure supported a larger size. Even if I had been anorexic, my hips would never be able to squeeze into a size 8. And I was not anorexic; my love of food was one of many destructive habits.

I had thought I had accepted my curves; I was graced to have a small waist, with flared hips. It gave me a very noticeable hourglass shape, one that I had grown to love. But, with his words, my chest felt like he had ripped my heart out and stomped on it. I was crushed.

Even though he treated me like shit, I continued to trail after him, the obvious stench of desperation clinging to me like a cloud of B.O surrounds the weird kid playing intramural hockey during every lunch break. Eventually, I smartened up enough to realize that he was not good for me, and I forced myself to get over him. It took a long time, but I felt moderately proud that I had been able to move past that relationship relatively unscathed.

The rest of my relationships had been the definition of awkward. I had dated within my friend circle, and both times it felt borderline incestuous. I knew that I had hurt both Eric Yorkie and Tyler Crowley for being unable to form any romantic connections with either of them, but it had felt too platonic, and the thought of getting down and dirty with either of them left me feeling slightly green around the gills.

So the idea of a new conquest, with a name I had never heard before, incited a fire within me that would not be dampened. I wanted to meet him, to talk to him, to smile at him. I eventually wanted to walk with his arm draped casually across my shoulder, my arm reciprocally wrapped around his waist. I wanted to find someone with whom I could be myself, without fear of rejection. I was intrigued, to say the least.

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I should have taken a step back and rationally evaluated the situation. I was essentially being arranged with a man I had never met, and had only heard of because his mother thought that it was pertinent mani-pedi talk. And, she _had_ said that he had just broken up with someone. I should have known then that it was not a good idea to put my hopes in this relationship.

But I wanted companionship; I wanted to say that I had a boyfriend more than anything. I was sick of being single, sick of being alone. It hurt more than anything to watch girls receive tissue paper roses from their boyfriends in school, and walk through the halls passively displaying them to girls like me, girls that would only receive those roses if they bought one for themselves.

I wanted to belong to someone. Call it a byproduct of my youth.

I should have known. I should have been able to see that I was being set up for more than just a newfound friend. I was being set up for disaster.

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